The speaker imagines themselves as a kind of magician, and the title, "Legerdemain," which means sleight of hand, sets up that idea. But the tricks aren't played on an audience. They belong to the natural world: sunlight turned into sugar, a plant that turns bitter when an insect comes near, a robe made of air plants. The speaker seems to take on these abilities, as if living things were a kind of magic they've learned to share.
Then the poem moves underground. The speaker finds a rounded stone and holds it in the mind "like hard candy," something to savor and turn over slowly. The last image is the most striking: roots and fungal threads that "never quite touch" yet still seem to connect. The mood is quiet, curious, and a little awed. The speaker doesn't explain the wonder, only admires how mysterious and delicate these hidden links are.